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Nov 20, 2015 By Shawn Hazelett Web Exclusive

Therese (Rooney Mara) is a poor New Yorker living a typical 1950s existence: by day, she’s a cog in the toy section of a high-end department store; at night, arm candy for an unspectacular boyfriend. It’s not that she’s boring—she’s just stifled, forced into a series of safe life choices, never having the opportunity to develop genuine passions and desires. She freely admits that she barely even knows what to order for lunch. This partially explains the draw of a customer named Carol (Cate Blanchett), a woman of affluence, elegance, and sophistication. A posterchild for a 1950 housewife, she attends fancy cocktail parties with her husband Harge (Kyle Chandler) but there’s a crack in the tableau: their marriage has long been over, the result of a dalliance with a female friend. Still, Carol sticks around. Perhaps out of routine. Perhaps because Harge—who is still crazy about her—could restrict access to their daughter by revealing the affair. (Remember: homosexuality was once considered a mental disorder.) Though Carol has been willing to maintain the family portrait, the young, bright-eyed Therese creates an undeniable attraction and, with it, a stronger chance that she will lose her daughter.

For a chunk of the film, Todd Haynes seems content to further indulge in material from his Far From Heaven, a witty subversion of 1950s tropes, values, and masculinity. Luckily, Carol uses satire as a mask which, once cast aside, leads to an incredibly well-drawn relationship between its two leads and unspoken discussions on station, gender, sexuality, and identity. Sharp writing by Phyllis Nagy has enough restraint to allow enough elbow room for its excellent actors to build chemistry. With Therese, a lesser actress might wait patiently in the shadows, but Mara plays her as more than just cute and curious, creating a pent-up human barely equipped to pursue the first thing in life she desires. Not unlike Haynes, Blanchett at times seems to replicate her Oscar-winning role in Blue Jasmine, but it’s a facade for a role that’s perhaps more challenging. Here, vulnerabilities can’t be revealed in the eccentricities of a mental disorder, but must be observed in subtle pauses and slight inflections on simple actions, like smoking. All the elements are so on point that the first hour could have severely condensed, but in a year severely replete of bold filmmaking, Carol is a welcome addition.

Author rating: 8/10