Religion, after all, isn’t merely a motif in Disobedience. The spitting feels almost like a spiritual ritual. And Disobedience lives in that beautiful mess of a place. Sex with an ex is complicated business, even when it’s good. They’re exploring each other while revisting simultaneously. And it’s that knowing way they cater to each other’s desires that makes it so sexy, so real. It instantly became one of my favorite lesbian sex scenes of all time, the small details like the way Esti kisses Ronit’s hand with an open mouth, the way Ronit pulls off Esti’s sheitel and plays with her hair, elevate the scene, infusing their intimacy with specificity and a tenderness that keeps it from feeling gratuitous.Īnd folks, I can verify wholeheartedly that the spitting does not disappoint. After dancing around it for a bit, Disobedience finally becomes strikingly explicit about Ronit and Esti’s history, making the swift jump from subtext to bold text.Īnd when their sex scene finally comes, the sex scene I anticipated for so many months, it’s overwhelmingly hot and emotional all at once. “Lovesong” by The Cure is the only song other than religious hymns that plays over the course of the film, and its lyrics are on-the-nose but in a way that works. Somehow, their kisses become more and more urgent as the movie goes on, each one more intense than the last. But it’s very clear that they’ve done this before, that they are returning to a place they know very well, a familiarity amplified by urgent desire. Just their first kiss on-screen, their first kiss as adults. Of course, it isn’t their first kiss at all. The build-up to Esti and Ronit’s first kiss is aching. That’s a tricky performance to pull off, and McAdams does it well, making Esti much more than a tragic character, making it known that she’s more in control of her life than meets the eye. Even her simplest, most quiet utterings drip with meaning and hint at more. Ronit is the kind of person who fills silence, who talks a lot and always speaks her mind, and Weisz has fun with that, a bold and brash contrast to the terse surroundings of Ronit’s past life. McAdams’ performance throughout is surprising and arresting. “You disappeared,” she says softly, but McAdams laces her delivery with a chilling, pointed iciness, making it a subtle but slicing accusation rather than a mere statement of fact. When Ronit asks why she didn’t tell her she married Dovid, Esti shrugs. At first, her reunion with Esti is taut and anxious, made melancholy by words left unsaid. The death of Ronit’s father, the community’s influential leader and rabbi, brings her back to the place and people she left behind. Esti stayed, married Ronit’s cousin Dovid, lived life the way she was expected to. Ronit got out, went to New York and redefined herself and her life. The famous Rachels in question - Weisz and McAdams - deliver bruising, dynamic performances as Ronit and Esti respectively, two former friends and lovers from the same tiny bubble of a Jewish orthodox community in the London suburbs. (For the record, there’s no spitting in the book.) At last, April came, and I finally feasted my eyes on the movie I long longed for, which is fitting, because Disobedience brims with irrepressible, sweaty-palmed longing and anticipation. Waiting proved difficult, so I bought the novel by Naomi Alderman upon which the movie is based and devoured it while on vacation in Greece. The Autostraddle Encyclopedia of Lesbian Cinemaįor the better part of seven months, I referred to the movie Disobedience as “the lesbian spit movie.” It premiered at the Toronto Film Festival, and all I really knew about it was that one famous Rachel was going to spit in another famous Rachel’s mouth during sex.LGBTQ Television Guide: What To Watch Now.
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